


This Isn’t the Job I Signed Up For

by LadiesMile



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Drama, Legal Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadiesMile/pseuds/LadiesMile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor and Oliver wind down at home after their hijinks in the lecture hall.  The next morning, Connor begins the difficult task of deciding whether he still wants a career as criminal-defense lawyer.  His and Oliver’s conversation is interrupted by a call from Michaela.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enough for One Day

**Author's Note:**

> Any episode of HTGAWM without at least two Coliver scenes leaves me cold. So you can imagine how disappointed I was by the complete absence of Coliver in S02E09. I have written two scenes that follow naturally from the end of S02E08 and could have occurred at the beginning of S02E09. 
> 
> **How to Get Away with Murder** is the property of Shondaland Productions. I do not own any of the characters in this story.

Oliver drove them home after their hijinks in the lecture hall. They’re a one-car household. Why Connor had not bought another car after his was stolen remained a mystery, but Oliver had stopped asking him about it when he moved in. Renting Apt. 303 entitled them to just one spot in the building’s parking garage, and Oliver didn’t want to move.

Connor had tilted the passenger seat back and fallen asleep as they pulled away from the campus. Here in the parking lot at home, he remained soundly asleep and perfectly posed – no snoring, no open mouth, no messy hair, no goofy expression. As he always did at moments like these, Oliver sat quietly, overwhelmed yet again by how beautiful Connor is, and wondered how long he could go on staring before something interrupted them. 

On this occasion, not long. A neighbor’s car rounded the corner quickly on its way out of the garage, and the squealing tires woke Connor. “Hi, sleeping beauty,” Oliver said and kissed him on the cheek. “We’re home.” They took the elevator to the third floor in companionable silence and started getting ready for bed as soon as Connor locked the apartment door behind them.

Oliver tossed his dirty clothes in the hamper and started buttoning his pajama top. Naked and determined, Connor approached, stilled Oliver’s hands, kissed his neck, and started unbuttoning.

“No,” Oliver said, pulling away and opening a dresser drawer. “That was really fun in the lecture hall, and I’m totally flattered that you want more so soon, but enough for one day. I’m exhausted.” He threw a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt at Connor, remembering that “pajamas for C – both flannel and silk” were on his Christmas-shopping list (along with some less practical items for C). “You’re tired, too, Con. You were sound asleep on the ride home.”

“Yeah, but I’m feeling refreshed after my nap,” Connor teased. Oliver just rolled his eyes. “Ok, ok. You’re right,” Connor said, pulling on the tee shirt. “Let’s go to sleep at a reasonable hour for once. Tomorrow’s another day.” He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Oliver followed. 

Because of all the pills, Oliver spends a lot more time than he does in the bathroom every night, and he always gives Oliver some privacy for that nighttime routine. He was under the duvet on his side of the bed when Oliver emerged from the bathroom, put his glasses on the night table, and turned off the light. Soon they’d connected in one of the configurations that worked for them, without having to say anything or consciously choose which one. Connor rested his head on Oliver’s right shoulder, while Oliver placed his left hand in Connor’s right and carded the fingers of his right hand through Connor’s amazing hair. Unfortunately, sleep did not come immediately.

“I’m worried about you,” Oliver said.

Connor lifted his head just a fraction of an inch and said, “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” Oliver grew stiff as a board beside him and withdrew his hand. Shit. That had come out wrong. “I wasn’t talking about your health! How many times do I have to say it? Being HIV positive isn’t a death sentence. You have a good doctor, and you’re doing everything right. That’s not what worries me.”

He felt Oliver’s upper body relax and, after a few seconds, figured he could lace their fingers back together. “I’m worried about your getting sucked into my mess at work. I couldn’t live with myself if you got into legal trouble because of something I asked you to do.”

That was an important conversation but not the one that Oliver wanted to have at the moment. “Well, I’m worried about _your_ health,” he said to Connor.

“Mental or physical?”

Oliver figured that Connor was trying to deflect his concern with a smart-ass response, but it didn’t matter. “Both, actually,” he said honestly. “You’re not eating well, you’re drinking gallons of coffee every day, and you’re not sleeping soundly. Or sleeping enough. When you finally fall asleep, you have nightmares and wake up in a cold sweat before the stupid alarm goes off at 5 a.m. It’s crazy! Does everyone who works for Annalise Keating live this way?”

Connor sat up, put one pillow behind his back, and hugged another to his chest. He didn’t turn the light on, because he was afraid to get too deeply into this conversation late at night when they were both tired. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve never been there at midnight when we’ve all been going nonstop since 9 a.m. and heard anyone say ‘I have to go home and get some sleep now. Civ Pro lecture starts in eight hours.’ Sometimes Wes takes off on his bike in the middle of the afternoon without telling Michaela and me where he’s going, but I doubt it’s home to take a nap or cook a nutritious dinner.”

Oliver sat up next to him. “Connor, you can’t go on like this. It’s starting to affect you. You’re on edge all the time. You’re snapping at people – including me, I might add. You’re not happy living like this.” He turned Connor’s head gently so that they were facing each other. “I’m not happy with the state of things, either. I miss that smooth, confident guy who flirted with me in the bar last September.”

Connor forgot how to speak for a minute. No one had ever expressed this kind of loving concern for him. His older sister might eventually have gotten around to it, but he’d been shipped off to boarding school when still quite young at his father’s insistence. By the first time he came home for the summer, he’d learned how to say what he needed to in every situation instead of saying what he truly thought or felt. It’s the most important lesson that little boys learn at elite boarding schools, as much from their fellow pupils as from their teachers. He was on good terms with his sister as an adult, but she had to make all kinds of assumptions about him, never really having known him as a child.

Yet, Oliver could see that he was struggling and wanted to help him. “You don’t want that guy back, Ollie. That guy was an arrogant jerk who used you in order to impress Annalise Keating.” He cupped Oliver’s face in his hands and ran his thumbs over the cheekbones. “I’m so glad I’m not that guy any more.”

“Oh, that guy wasn’t all bad, Con.” Oliver smiled, removed the pillow from Connor’s lap, and held Connor’s hand. “And at least he took care of himself.”

“I’ll be ok,” Connor said. “We have a mid-semester break coming up, and I’ll be able to catch up on sleep.”

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself, either. Annalise won’t give you a break if there’s work to do on an important case. Somehow this woman thinks she owns you, and you let her go on thinking it. You say that you hate working for her, but you don’t quit, even though hers is just one of your four classes. I don’t understand.”

 _Of course you don’t understand,_ Connor thought. _I’ve deliberately kept you in the dark. It’s killing me, and you can tell, damn it._

“You’re right. Something’s gotta give. I can’t go on working 24 hours a day, most of them as an intern for someone whose work I don’t believe in.”

“Good. Because I can’t go on watching you disintegrate. There has to be a better way.” Oliver lay down and pulled Connor back into his arms. “You have to figure out what you really want out of law school – and how to get it without all this craziness.”

Connor put his head back onto Oliver’s right shoulder. “Let’s figure that out tomorrow. All I really want right now is to sleep next to you – for as long as possible. Ok?”

“Of course,” Oliver whispered. “Good night, love.” He kissed Connor’s temple and rolled onto his left side with Connor’s right arm wrapped around his middle.

Connor squeezed his lover’s waist gently and kissed his shoulder. “Good night, Ollie. Please don’t worry about me.”


	2. Don’t Let it Get to You

9:51. Jesus. Oliver hadn’t slept so late or so soundly for as long as he could remember. His sense of peace and well being wobbled a little when he reached over to find Connor’s side of the bed empty and cold. He wasn’t worried, just a little disappointed to realize that he’d been alone during some of that long, delicious sleep – that it hadn’t been quite the perfect experience that it might have been. “Get a grip,” he thought. “Connor’s the best thing that ever happened to you. And you’re complaining that it’s not _‘perfect’_?”

He made his way to the bathroom and then to the kitchen, where he found half a pot of coffee and a post-it note: “It’s 9:15, and you’re still deep under, which is great. Going out for a run. Love –C.” Their post-it messages were getting longer and more grammatical, which made him happy for some reason. Maybe things were pretty perfect after all.

He was drinking coffee and reading email on the couch when Connor burst into the apartment about half an hour later. Exertion and cold weather had made the younger man rosy-cheeked, sweaty, and totally irresistible. The first time Oliver had referred to them as a “couple” invaded both their minds simultaneously, and they leered at each other. “Take off your pajamas,” Connor said while stripping off his running gear. 

The living-room couch was not their usual spot for morning sex, and, truth be told, it wasn’t exactly fit for purpose. Connor bumped his knee into the coffee table, spilling Oliver’s forgotten but half-full cup. Fortunately, Oliver was still coherent enough to pull his laptop out of the path of the cold coffee; he had forgiven Connor for destroying one laptop in a technically clueless effort to hide their illegal activity, but destruction of two machines in one week would have strained even the deepest love. 

After that close call, they moved to the living-room floor, unable to resist rolling around like little kids for a few seconds before focusing on the very adult task at hand. Making love at home with the blinds drawn lacked the novelty of doing so on the table behind which Annalise held forth each week on the fine points of Criminal Law, but the privacy of today’s venue had its pluses. For the next half hour, they took full advantage of the freedom to be as noisy and as messy as they pleased. Afterwards, they lay peacefully beside each other, happy not to have to clean up after themselves right away. 

“I’m starting to get cold,” Connor said eventually. “Let’s take a shower.”

“Just what I was about to do before you got home. Glad I procrastinated.”

They took turns standing under the faucet, because Connor liked scalding water that Oliver found intolerable. Perhaps that would be a reason not to shower together in the long run but not at this point when their love was still new. While getting dressed, they resumed the conversation they’d started the night before.

“This isn’t the job I signed up for,” Connor said while zipping his jeans. “Sure, a great criminal-defense lawyer has to bend some of the rules some of the time, but Annalise has us going way too far.” He went back into the bathroom and began his grooming routine, which Oliver often teased him about but actually loved to watch. “And now we’ve got you going way too far. This craziness has to stop. We’re both going to wind up in jail or in an emergency room or both.”

Oliver could not agree more. “I know I said `I can make my own decisions’ when we were arguing at Annalise’s place, but that was before my close encounter with that creep Phillip.” Connor winced at the reminder that a probable killer had been in their home. He took Oliver’s hand in his and kissed it, then moved closer but didn’t speak. He wanted Oliver to feel that they were together and safe, but he _really_ didn’t want any more talk about Phillip, who had already caused them enough anxiety.

“In my own kitchen, no less!,” Oliver continued. “You were right. I’m not cut out for a life of _mano a mano_ hacking with World-of-Warcraft fanatics. I think I’ll go back to my boring-ass job in the IT department now, thank you very much.”

Connor fervently hoped that his boyfriend meant that literally. He squeezed Oliver’s shoulders and said, “Speaking of kitchens, let’s make some brunch. I’m famished after all that fresh air and strenuous activity.”

They moved comfortably around each other, scrambling eggs and brewing fresh coffee, aware and relieved that the Keating craziness hadn’t penetrated every nook and cranny of their life together. After they sat down, Connor ate slowly and gracefully, despite being famished. Perfect table manners were such an integral part of his classy upbringing that he never put any conscious effort into them, but Oliver always noticed such things. Connor effortlessly expressed complete thoughts between small bites, never uttering a word with his mouth full but never having to pause the conversation while he chewed and swallowed either.

“Like that psycho-killer college girl who stabbed her old best friend to death and bragged to her new best friends about how she was going to kill again,” he said. “Annalise wanted to destroy the video so that that monster could walk. How can she look herself in the mirror?”

“You know, Con, defending guilty people is most of what criminal-defense lawyers do. If that feels like something you can’t do, maybe you’re on the wrong career path.”

Just a few months ago, Connor would have dismissed such a suggestion – or argued about it. Now he took another sip of coffee and sat quietly, letting the familiar wave of gratitude wash over him once again. He desperately needed to talk about whether to continue pursuing the career he’d wanted since he’d become addicted to **The Practice** when he was eight years old. And here was his Oliver – brilliant, loving, trustworthy, and a great listener – wanting to have precisely the conversation Connor needed to have. When had he become so lucky?

“I guess I could look for a summer internship at another firm. Not one that specializes in criminal defense.” The prospect was interesting – actually sort of _fun_ – to think about and brought a smirk to Connor’s face. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Have you ever considered intellectual property?,” Oliver asked. “I hear it’s one of the few practice areas in which there’s actually a shortage of lawyers.”

“Honestly, no, it never occurred to me,” Connor said. “Are you serious? Patents or copyrights?”

“There probably isn’t much of either in Philly. Do you want to wind up in Silicon Valley or Hollywood?”

Connor’s phone rang before he could wrap his head around that question. “Hi, Michaela.” He listened for a few seconds. “Stop. You’re not making any sense. The Hapstall case is over. We won yesterday.”

Oliver started clearing the table, ready to hear the same thing he usually heard when he and Connor were supposed to have an afternoon off together.

“No,” Connor pleaded with Michaela. “Don’t tell me that. It’s Saturday. Oliver and I need some time.”

“Con, it’s ok. I have to …”

“Hold on,” Connor said to Michaela and muted his phone. “It is _not_ ok. You said it yourself last night: These people are going to be the death of me. I need a day off.”

“It sounds as though Michaela’s in trouble and needs your help. I’m sure she’d help you if you needed her. Go see what the problem is.”

Connor rolled his eyes and looked at Oliver as if to say “not you, too.” But he un-muted and got back to Michaela. “Ok, ok. Oliver can’t seem to say no to you, and he can’t seem to let me say it, either. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

More eye rolling. “Do you happen to know whom I slept with last night? Whoever he was had a very different view of my working on Saturday afternoons,” Connor said sarcastically. “He was really cute, too.” 

Oliver closed the dishwasher and pulled Connor in for a quick kiss. “Actually, I can’t take this afternoon off. Now that I’ve decided to stick with my boring-ass job in IT, I have to catch up on all the work email that accumulated while I was off playing secret-agent man.”

Connor put on his shoes and jacket and started heading out. “I’m assuming you don’t need the car this afternoon. You’re going to be dealing with your email at home, right?”

“Yeah, sure, take it,” Oliver said. He put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, and Connor turned around. They kissed again, more slowly this time. “Listen, try to stay calm today, ok? It’s just an internship.”

“Ollie, you saw what goes on in that office …”

“Yeah, I know, but you don’t have to let it get to you all the time. Just see what Michaela needs and then get out of there. Text me when you know your schedule, and I’ll have dinner ready when you get home.”

Connor nodded and walked out the door. “Don’t let it get to me?,” he thought. “You have no idea, babe, no idea.” And he hoped with all his heart that Ollie never would.


End file.
